


People Like Us

by Eristastic



Category: End Roll (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bi panic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8604706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eristastic/pseuds/Eristastic
Summary: How are you supposed to start a relationship when one of you is emotionally repressed and the other is aggressively convinced he's only into women? This was doomed from the beginning: it's only natural that it ended in tears.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a very-very-early prequel to the [bodyswap au](http://eristastic.tumblr.com/post/153323813917/end-roll-au-set-1-bodyswap-au-part-1) (an au nakihime/mars and I have been coming with on twitter but which I haven't written anything for yet). That link will take you to masterpost one of five, but the relevant one for this fic is [the fifth](http://eristastic.tumblr.com/post/153394156827/end-roll-au-set-1-bodyswap-au-part-5).
> 
> Anyway.  
> None of that actually matters. This is a perfectly viable standalone fic, with some workplace romance and a lot of angst that got rather personal.

Walter Bartley was a really shockingly dense person. You’d think that usually, if you hung out with a guy 80% of the time, invited him to do things outside of work, and just generally showed an interest in him, he’d get a clue and realise you were…you were…

Something. Raymond didn’t know what he was, but it was something. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. All he knew for sure was that he was gnawing on hard, bitter frustration every time Walter seemed to let another hint float by him. He just didn’t get it. Nor did Raymond. Because Raymond wasn’t gay.

He was just something.

It wasn’t like Walter was much of a catch anyway, he thought (bitterly) while trying to shred a mountain of paper in the office copy room. He wore sweater vests pretty much exclusively, apart from when he was wearing actual sweaters, and he never put any effort into his appearance. If he still looked good in any way, that was just luck, which he apparently had a lot of. Whatever. Anyway. He was cranky and worked too hard and couldn’t carry a conversation, and he was too curt and never charming and he never, ever showed it properly when he enjoyed someone’s company. He was a total social wreck.

Raymond’s fists clenched on the paper he was putting into the shredder, crumpling it up. Of course, the shredder didn’t like that, so it beeped at him and he had to straighten the paper out before trying again. Typical. Fucking typical. He stared at the depressingly white wall in front of him, trying to drain out a little of the bitterness, but it wasn’t really working. It hadn’t worked all last night, so he shouldn’t have expected it to work now, but he had, and he was disappointed, and he was so fucking bitter.

Remembering last night, he had to take a moment to breathe, and the shredder beeped at him again. Needy little fucker.

There were still stacks of paper to get shredded, and there was still filing to be done, still emails to send, and probably a whole host of other chores that would be dumped on him once he left the copy room. He’d end up doing overtime, he just knew it. Probably for the best, actually, because when he was working, Raymond could stop thinking for a bit. So sure, going to work did mean a boring commute and wearing a suit all the time, but at least there was that. If he wasn’t working today, he’d be at home, growing more bitter by the second, because really, where the fuck did Walter get off in saying that he ‘didn’t really know’ if he cared about Raymond? It had just been a joke text, so why the hell’d he taken it so seriously? In that kind of situation, you usually just said ‘yeah, of course I care about you, bro’ or something just as dumb and ironic, and you left it. That was how it worked.

But no, Walter had had to be honest, which meant Raymond now knew that three fucking months of basically always being together had meant _nothing_. He didn’t know what he’d wanted it to mean, but that didn’t matter anyway, did it?

He had to take another second to calm himself down before he could get back to shredding. Shredding was supposed to relieve stress, but he wasn’t feeling anything but anger. Mostly at himself, if he was honest. What had he been waiting for? A love confession? He wasn’t into guys: what would he have done if Walter had said that?

Leaning on the photocopier, he stared blankly at the wall until his vision went fuzzy. Maybe Yue was right: maybe he really was losing it. He had to calm down. It didn’t _matter_. He had a job to be doing.

Half of the pile of paper was gone by the time the copy room door opened. He looked up to nod briefly, and then froze when he realised it was Walter. Of course. That was how things worked. Walter nodded at him in greeting and went to the printer.

After some deliberation and internal screaming, Raymond walked over to lean casually against the second printer. He debated crossing his arms, but felt that would be too standoffish, so he settled for putting his hands in his pockets and looking at Walter. He might have misjudged the distance. They were uncomfortably close.

“Doing alright?” he asked, still casual. He was good at casual. Casual was easy.

Walter shrugged, checking over the documents he’d picked up from the printer. “Not too bad. Considering how late you were up last night, I’m surprised you look as well as you do.”

What, so he was going to bring it up?

“As I recall,” Raymond said, sarcastically imitating Walter’s voice for a second, “you were up at the same time.”

“And look at the state of me.” Walter turned and smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to light up his whole face. And then it was gone, and he was back to deep bags under his eyes, his skin drawn and pallid. But it had been there, and Raymond couldn’t forget.

“Are you free tonight?” he found himself asking. He didn’t know why. ‘Tonight’ was in less than an hour.

“I suppose,” Walter shrugged, and then paused for a second. “Oh, but I have an article I’ve been meaning to pull apart, so actually, I’m afraid not.”

“An article.”

He nodded, and started to staple documents together. “It’s on the psychology of dreams and it’s absolutely terrible. I’ve been thinking I should write in about it. Because really, who on earth uses Freud as credible ‘inspiration’ nowadays? It’s absurd.”

He turned around, smiling wryly, unkindly, as if he was inviting Raymond into the joke, but Raymond wasn’t really concentrating. It was like his whole world had sharpened down to the two of them in a sickeningly white-washed room, backed by the bitter taste of his own frustration. Always bitter.

“Hey, Walter,” he said. “Do you like being this evasive? Is it a game or something?”

Walter didn’t answer: he blinked and frowned.

“I mean god, it’s been months, right? And you’re still acting like we barely know each other. Is that on purpose? What the fuck are you doing?”

Raymond didn’t know what he was saying. Everything was based on instinct, on pulse, on the fact that he _wanted_ to reach out and take Walter’s jaw in one hand, tilting his head up, and so he did. It felt right, and whether that was because he wanted revenge, or control, or something else, he didn’t know. He just bent down and kissed him.

It shouldn’t have been any different from when Raymond had kissed any of his ex-girlfriends, but he kept his eyes open. He saw Walter’s eyes widen, he saw them shut, and then he was too close to see anything properly. If he moved his lips and tongue, it was only out of instinct. He didn’t know what he was doing. It took his mind off the frustration for a while – was that enough of an excuse? Was that enough to cover up the shiver of pleasure he felt when Walter kissed him back?

But this wasn’t what he wanted. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t who he was. Right?

Right.

Raymond broke away, pulling his hand back from Walter’s jaw so he could wipe his own mouth. He moved aggressively, a vicious smile playing on his lips. Walter watched him, his mouth still slightly open.

Words poured out before he had a chance to think about them. “Is that what you were looking for? Do you feel like you’ve won now? Too bad: it’s not what I’m into at all.”

“You…” Walter said the word neutrally and stopped, no expression on his face, but his eyes were very wide.

Raymond raised his eyebrows. “What, did you think that _meant_ something?”

Nothing he was saying made sense, and he _knew_ that, but he couldn’t stop saying it – it was like he was piling bricks up in front of him, building a rickety barrier as if that could protect him from anything. And it couldn’t. All it would take was Walter calling him out on how stupid everything he was saying was. Walter was clever and his words were cruel: he’d be able to do it in a second and make Raymond feel like shit in the process, and that was _fine_. He just needed to break down the wall.

But, totally uncharacteristically, he looked away. “Of…of course I didn’t,” he said, in a voice barely loud enough to be heard over the humming of the printer. Then he turned away, picked up the documents he’d come for, and left.

Raymond didn’t turn around or run after him. He stood still, surrounded by machines that buzzed and beeped; surrounded by the ruins of a barrier that had never protected him, but only hurt the person he should have let in.

 

*

 

There were things that you grew accustomed to, growing up a certain way. Walter, for example, had never really been popular. He hadn’t been athletic either, or particularly sociable, and while puberty had been kind to him, he hadn’t been very nice to look at as a child. Growing up like that – growing up as the go-to butt of jokes – did things to you. You weren’t someone to whom love happened. Your body and sexual attractiveness did not overlap. You were, in short, yourself, but a ‘yourself’ for whom some doors were shut, and that was all there was to it.

It wasn’t as if Walter hadn’t been confessed to before, but it had been a joke both times.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been propositioned before, but – again – those had been jokes, or so insincere that he had no interest in them.

And because he knew instinctively, without even really wording it, that those doors were locked to him, he found that falling in love wasn’t something he ever did. That was just how it was.

It was odd, then, that he hadn’t immediately realised that Raymond had been joking. It hadn’t felt like a joke – his words and his actions hadn’t gone together at all – and it still didn’t feel like a joke, but that was neither here nor there. What mattered was that he’d said it meant nothing. Thus, it followed that Walter had to act as if it mean nothing to him either, because it was all a game of desperately keeping face when you had no confidence to stand on.

He couldn’t get angry, because that would only lead to the dreaded question: ‘ _What, did you think someone like_ me _would kiss someone like_ you _seriously?_ ’ So he just had to take it. Emotionlessness and acceptance were the easiest ways to protect yourself, he knew. Act as if nothing matters, because then no one can take it away from you.

So he’d left the room and got back to work. He’d left late again, and spent the evening ripping that awful article into pieces, drafting and writing up a letter of complaint. He’d heated up some of the leftovers his neighbour had given him, he’d had a shower, he’d settled down with a book, and he’d turned his phone off.

Act as if nothing matters, because then it won’t.

It had been a mistake to choose a story with a whimsical coming-of-age theme to it, he supposed. It had been good, or else he wouldn’t have stayed up until three in the morning to finish it, but it had set him thinking. He realised, with mild horror, that for the past month he’d really thought he and Raymond were getting somewhere.

Rolling over onto his back on the bed, he stared up at the bright lights on the ceiling of his bedroom. It was cold. He shouldn’t have turned the heating off so early, but then, he hadn’t known he was going to stay up so late. No foresight. His legs were freezing, but that was his fault for choosing to sleep in underwear and a t-shirt even in winter. And he didn’t want to move, anyway. He just wanted to stare up at the too-bright ceiling, thinking about what an idiot he’d been.

He hadn’t realised Raymond could smile like that. He’d felt like a rabbit caught by a wolf, but a rabbit that was discarded as too scrawny or something equally humiliating.

‘ _Someone like me_ ’; ‘ _someone like you_ ’.

Well. You expected that, he supposed. He’d been careless and let himself imagine things. He couldn’t even really get angry at how out of line Raymond had been, because on some level he felt he deserved it for that arrogance of his. His fault.

He reached a hand to the light switch, turned the lights off, and tried to manoeuvre his way into the blankets so he could sleep.

 

***

 

Walter wouldn’t have come if Fairia hadn’t essentially begged him to. He knew where he wasn’t wanted, and as such, he’d been doing his level best to avoid Raymond whenever he could, and to be civil but not overly familiar when he couldn’t. He’d been doing well, apart from one night he’d given in and spent a miserable half hour angrily crying over the phone to Fairia, but that wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

And now he was in a deserted corner of some park, shivering into his coat and scarf on a frigid bench, stubbornly looking down at his shoes so he didn’t have to look at Raymond. Was it just going to be a lukewarm apology and ‘ _I shouldn’t have been that rude, but nah, still not into guys, so just pretend I never hurt you, yeah?_ ’? Was Walter really reduced to accepting apologies like _that_ now? It was going to hurt all over again, and it was going to drive him up the wall with how unfair it all was, so all he could do was brace himself.

Across the park, a cyclist rode along a leaf-strewn path, and Walter wondered how they managed to wear shorts in such cold weather.

“I’m sorry.”

Walter looked over, a little surprised that Raymond was starting with the apology straight away. Was this going to be shorter than he’d thought?

“I’m really, really sorry,” Raymond said, staring straight ahead of him. His cheeks were visibly flushed from the cold even through his tan skin. “I was…fuck, I was such a dick.”

“An understatement,” Walter said coldly. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ll forget about it if you’d prefer.”

“No!” He turned to face Walter, horrified. “What’s that going to do? I was an asshole to you and kissed you without asking and then I was an asshole about that too. I’m just…!” He sighed heavily and turned back, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Do you…do you mind if I tell you something? It’s going to get long, and you don’t have to listen if you don’t actually want to be here. Like, I just wanted to apologise, so…”

Walter shrugged. He felt like his whole body was freezing up into numbness with the cold, or with something else – he couldn’t tell. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“That’s fair, I guess,” Raymond said with what sounded like a glum attempt at laughter. “I don’t want to make this whole thing a sob story, so I mean, I’ll try and keep it short, but…”

He breathed in deeply, putting his hands to his face. “I really, really thought I wasn’t into guys. I mean come on: I’m twenty-eight. You generally figure you’ve got your shit sorted out by that age. I thought I was only ever going to be into women. I think I really wanted to only ever be into women. It’s easier that way, right? I don’t have to change: I can just be who I’ve always thought I am. I don’t have to think that maybe I’m starting to, you know, develop feelings and shit for some guy I just painted as a friend. That’s difficult, you know?”

He laughed again, and it was even weaker than before. “So I guess I didn’t have any idea what I was doing. Still don’t. I freely admit that. I didn’t have any idea what I was feeling! Is it normal to want more from a friend? Yeah – that’s just how friendship works, right? But I _kept_ wanting more, and it never stopped. God, this sounds like a self-pity trip, doesn’t it? It sounds so lame. I don’t even know what I’m fucking talking about anymore.” His voice grew muffled as he put his face in his hands. “It was just that you were acting like we were friends, and _apparently_ that wasn’t enough for me and I took it too far. There’s not really an excuse for that. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m even sorrier for what I said. I just…fuck, I really patronised you, didn’t I? I feel like what I said keeps replaying in my head. I can’t get it out.

“This is a mess,” he mumbled into his hands. “I swear I thought about what I wanted to say before I came here, but I can’t remember it now I’m actually here. I just wanted to apologise. I guess I fell in love with you a while back, but I didn’t recognise it, so I fucked everything up in the worst way. And you don’t have to respond or anything: it’s fine. I just wanted you to know, I guess. Sorry.”

The park was eerily quiet around the two of them. Distant cars and a single bird cry couldn’t drown out what Raymond had said, and that was probably for the better. Walter felt as if his whole body was totally numb. He reached a hand out hesitantly; it hovered halfway between them, and he couldn’t feel his fingers.

Raymond sucked in a breath. He still had his face in his hands. It wasn’t immediately obvious, but when he made a low, breathy whine followed by a sniff and more heavy breathing, Walter realised he must be close to tears, or already there. It seemed absurd: what did he have to cry about? Walter was the one who should have been crying in relief, but he couldn’t feel anything. He could only sit and watch as Raymond’s shoulders began to shake, his breaths taking on more sound until they almost sounded like cries. His hands clenched into fists against his face.

Walter didn’t want to do anything: do anything, and it can be used against you as proof that you cared. He wanted Raymond to be his usual self, because then he could kiss Walter, and Walter could say something cutting, and they could be themselves. But here, the only path forwards he could see involved breaking down all the doors in front of him, and he wasn’t sure he _could_. Doors were there for a reason. Wouldn’t it be easier to say goodbye and leave? Rather than fall into the unknown, it was easier to walk back along the cliff, to safety. Everyone knew that.

He got up, his feet aching with the cold. Raymond looked like he was trying to curl in on himself, as if that would muffle the sounds of a man crying. Walter could hear everything. His shoes scuffing on the gravel of the path, he walked the three steps necessary to stand in front of Raymond and crouched down, reaching numb fingers out to lift Raymond’s head and pull his fists away.

He looked terrible. People tended to, when they’d been crying. Walter wasn’t going to hold it against him, not when it felt like it put them on more even footing than they would have been on if Raymond were his usual flawless (except in personality) self. So, still holding his hands, Walter leant up and kissed him.

It was surprising how little he wanted to express his anger. Oh, he was angry now – he was furious, and in any other situation he would have been tempted to scream at Raymond until he understood what a first class idiot he’d been – but he felt calm. He kissed him gently, and then moved back and kissed his wet cheeks too, because it was quite possibly the sappiest thing Walter could think of doing, and he wanted Raymond to suffer through it. He wanted him to know, and feel, and understand that this was what he was getting into, because if he wasn’t ready for this to be a relationship – if he wanted to play around with labels and pretend he was still straight – then Walter wanted no part in it.

He sat back on his heels, squeezed Raymond’s hands, and looked him in the eye. “Is that what you were looking for?” he asked unassumingly, repeating Raymond’s words from their first kiss because he deserved to hear them again.

Raymond winced, and it was satisfying. “…it’s what I wanted, I guess.”

“Well. Just know that you have an awful lot of grovelling to do. I don’t take kindly to being used.” He didn’t, but he realised that this was, disturbingly, the first time he’d really been allowed to express that. Usually people like him just took it, when it came to things like this.

“Yeah.” Raymond lowered his head, but didn’t move his hands out of Walter’s. He laughed briefly and pathetically. “Sorry.”

“Oh, cheer up.” He pulled on Raymond’s hands, and they both stood up. Raymond still looked a mess, so Walter tried to do something about how messy his hair was, but it looked like the battle was lost before he’d even started. He gave up, but wrapped his own scarf around Raymond’s neck to at least give him some way of hiding how much of a wreck he still looked.

“Thanks,” Raymond mumbled into it. “God, I must look so fucking lame right now.”

“You do. But we’re leaving anyway: it’s freezing here, and I imagine both Yue and Fairia must be waiting for us somewhere.”

“They are. Back in the…whatever it’s called. Gazebo.”

Walter nodded and, still holding Raymond’s hand, pulled him away from the bench. It was far too cold without his scarf, but self-righteousness went some way in warming him up. Raymond was, without a doubt, the biggest idiot he’d _ever_ had the misfortune to meet, and it was a damn tragedy that he was the one who had to clean things up like this.

The bigger tragedy was that it didn’t feel tragic to him at all.


End file.
